


The Devil and his Due

by orphan_account



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abusive Relationship, Alternate Universe - Serial Killers, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, FBI, Gen, Gore, Hybristophilia, Internalized Homophobia, Journalist Castiel, M/M, Manipulation, Manipulative Dean, Murder, Mutual Pining, Needy Castiel, Obsession, Obsessive Castiel, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Dean, Rape, Serial Killer Dean, Sexual Sadism, Sociopath Dean Winchester, Suicidal Thoughts, Suicide Attempt, Torture, Toxic Relationship, selfish Dean, suffoctating love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-05
Updated: 2015-10-05
Packaged: 2018-04-24 21:23:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4935862
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a brutal and sadistic serial killer begins stalking the streets of Pontiac, Illinois, Castiel Krushnik, an ambitious young newspaper columnist straight out of college, takes it upon himself to attempt to solve the mystery of the killer's identity. That is, until Castiel himself almost becomes a victim, only being spared by pure manipulation and lies. The dreams of fame and fortune spurring him on, he vows to survive, to kill the man and write a book covering the horrors he's faced at the hands of a psychopath. But as his obsession with the killer grows, Castiel discovers something disturbing about himself: His own unhealthy fascination with the sexual savagery of the murders.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prelude

**Author's Note:**

> -Please read tags, this is a particularly gorey story so please be safe. I believe I've covered everything  
> -Do not repost elsewhere  
> -comments and kudos welcome (please let me know if I should continue)  
> -Reader discretion is advised  
> -Dean is very sick and twisted in this  
> \- please read only if you're comfortable and enjoy  
> -updates will be regularly done
> 
> visit me on tumblr: http://alka-seltzer-spacewitch.tumblr.com/ I would love to hear from you :)

“We love the very things that kill us.”

-Christpher Pointdexter

 

 

 

Prelude: 

 

 _My mother died in childbirth, she and my baby brother, Sammy. My father resorted to alcohol and drug abuse to deal with the pain, I was left on my own a lot, and if he was around he found any reason at all to punish me, to hurt me the way he was hurting. No matter how I begged and pleaded, he didn’t care._ ‘You brought this on yourself.’ _He’d say, and then he would strike me with his belt, his hand, a bottle, whatever was closest and hard enough to hurt me._

__

_When I was a boy, about ten years old, I found the kittens underneath the neighbor’s porch. They were pretty, grey fur, soft to the touch, and purred every time my index finger stroked over their skin. I marveled at how powerless they were, so small they fit in the palm of my hand. The first one I killed didn’t put up much of a fight. It whined, and twitched, I felt a strange sense of euphoria, of power, as I watched the life in my hand slowly burn out. I had never felt so good in my life, I wanted more of it. I began to crave it. Something to be in control of when my own life was going to shit._

__

_I started doing that a lot after the first time. The neighborhood pets started coming up missing, one after another, no one ever guessed it was me. Poor little Dean, with the alcoholic father would never hurt anyone. The more I got away with it, the more invincible I felt, the bolder I became in my actions. One kill was never enough, it became my drug and I always needed my fix. A cat here, two dogs there, I became a God, deciding who was fit to live and who needed to die. I was drunk on that power, it was the strongest thing I’ve ever felt._

__

_The first_ person _I ever killed was my dad. It didn’t bring me relief to finally lay him to waste, to punish him for his sins. It only made me want it more. To punish and judge others, as I had been punished and judged. It was the blessing and the curse that had been bestowed upon me. As I sat on my father's stomach, stabbing him over and over again, I watched the light in his eyes fading, I stared him down. I wanted him to know it was me, I was the one taking his life, dealing him the same pain he had dealt me all of these years. He pleaded, he tried to console me, get me to stop, but I couldn’t. My heart was pounding, my blood was boiling and the high I felt was better than any animal murder I had committed, taking a human life was more difficult, but the high I felt was wonderful. I couldn't look away, I couldn't stop if I wanted to, and I didn't want to._

__

_I watched him die. I smiled even, as his breaths became less and less, his arms falling back and his lips twitching, with words he couldn’t get out, blood choking him off. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything quite as beautiful, as when humans bleed, it smells metallic and sweet, bitter and rich, the color a deep red as it oozes, like puss from whatever wound has been inflicted. I marveled at my father, as his eyes widened, he coughed and stilled. He shit on himself then, and pissed, but it didn’t ruin the moment.  Not for me. When I called the police, frantic and crying, they had asked what happened and I told them of a robbery. I made the house look as though it was ransacked and cleaned as best I could. Getting away with that was the ultimate high, I was infinite, I was immortal then. No one could touch me again, and if they tried they'd be sorry._

__

_These became my fantasies, at sixteen years old. Instead of dreams of girls, ripe beautiful breasts with pert, swollen nipples and tight willing pussies to stick my cock in, I was dreaming of blood spattered walls and cries of pain. For a while, reliving the memory of my father’s death was enough, I could still smell the blood, taste it on my lips, I could remember the sounds he made clearly enough and the pleads for help. It was a beautiful symphony of chaos in my own mind, and I craved it even more. One more kill would never satisfy, would never be enough, I would always need more. It became like a game of cat and mouse, I would close in on unsuspecting victims and take them apart slowly, piece by fucking piece, by the time I was ready to move on they’d be nothing but blood and bone._

__

_I left Lawrence, Kansas, the place where I was raised. I was no idiot, it wouldn’t be safe to continue hunting there after my father died. I began traveling around the country, hunting humans and robbing lives. Claiming the earth as my own and proclaiming myself a righteous God. Taking out the sinners and blessing the faithful. I am just. I am fair. I am unstoppable._

**  
  
**

“Shhh,”I whisper, drawing the knife down the side of the little blonde woman’s face. She whimpers, hard sobs racking her body, I find it beautiful when they cry, it makes the fear in her eyes more real, so tangible I can almost taste it. I cut her cheek a little, she screams and I strike her, my hand connecting with the right side of her face, sending her head snapping back. I feel a rush of heat shoot straight through my body, I love this part. She lifts her head again, blood dripping down the side of her mouth.

“Please,” she cries, her voice barely above a whisper now, afraid I’ll strike her again. “Please whatever you want. You can have it. Just let me go.” I kneel in front of her, tilting my head to the side, I reach up, she flinches and I smirk, dragging my knife slowly down her chest, in the valley between her little breasts to circle over her stomach. I like to cut there, the flesh gives way so easily. Her body trembles, unshed tears glistening in her eyes.

“I don’t want your money,” I say, cutting her shirt with my knife, she squirms and I nick her breast, ordering her to behave, she stills, her chest moving hard, as she struggles to breathe evenly,” I don’t need money.”

“Then why are you doing this!” she yells, flecks of spit hitting me in the face, my eyes darken and I glare at her. I hate to be spit on, it’s something my father did to me, I growl, low and deep in my gut, if her face turned any paler she’d be a ghost, she swallowed hard and clicked her tongue nervously.

“Because I like it.” The look of horror on her face as I cut into her stomach is positively riveting. I laugh as she squeals in pain, I wonder if her insides are as pretty as her outsides.

There’s a lot of blood in people. You think you’re solid because of how you look on the outside, but you’re not. Not really. Our skin is just like a big water bottle, keeping our blood on the inside so we don’t leak everywhere we go. I don’t think I’ll ever get tired of just how beautiful that deep rich color of red looks. But cleaning it up is one hell of a job in and of itself.I scrub the walls, the smell of bleach assaulting my nostrils hard as I force the beautiful colors back to the way they were, before I slaughtered the woman on the floor. She’s in pieces now, chest and stomach ripped open, internal organs butchered, heart sitting on some old newspapers at the foot of the bed. I like the way real hearts look, not the fake hallmark greeting cards, the real ones are thick, and heavy in your hand, but so, so easy to break. It’s my favorite organ.

Once I’ve finished cleaning and bagging the woman’s body I leave the hotel. I always pay when I arrive someplace and leave in the dead of the night. Those are just two of my rules, if you want to be a killer, you have to be smart about it, and aliases and paying cash is always the smartest way to go. As I drive down the dark, lone country roads, I throw pieces of her out the window, it’ll be a few days before she’s found, that is if the animals don’t get to her first. She won’t be missed, no family or lovers to come looking for her. She’s just disappeared, like so many people do.

The next town over is a little place called Pontiac, a small town, I’ve been there before, ages ago, it’s good hunting grounds, lots of abandoned houses and clueless cops who don’t know their crotch from their ass. The people there act good and humble, but everyone has secrets and I have ways of seeking them out. No one is safe, not from me. I smile as I turn onto the main highway that will take me straight into the heart of the city. They’re about due for a good cleansing, every town has a sinner, who needs to be brought to justice.

 


	2. Chapter 2

Castiel groaned, stretching and rolling over onto his back. He turned his head and smiled, trailing his fingers, slowly down his boyfriend’s back. The clock above the bed read 7:30, a little early for a saturday, but Castiel wasn’t tired.

“Are you trying to start something?” his boyfriend, a beautiful blonde brit, named Balthazar, rolled over and took Castiel’s hand in his own, brushing his lips over the tanned man’s knuckles. Castiel’s eyes fluttered closed, his body relaxing as Balthazar pulled him in. “Why are you up? It’s Saturday. And early.” he placed a gentle kiss to Castiel’s lips, skin against skin, Castiel felt heat flare in his stomach. He reached up to thread his fingers through Balthazar’s hair.

“You know me. All work, no play,” Castiel moaned, as Balthazar nuzzled his neck, nipping at the tender flesh there. He felt his boyfriend smirk against his pulse, as he pressed Cas down into the mattress.

“We’ll see about that.” Castiel giggled as Balthazar pulled the sheets up over their heads, only to be interrupted by an incessant ringing. Balthazar groaned and rolled off of Castiel, reaching over to the end table and grabbing his lover’s phone. “It’s Crowley. Want me to tell him you’re sick?” Crowley was Castiel’s boss. Castiel was a journalist, wrote columns for the Pontiac Press, the local newspaper. it wasn’t exactly the dream job he’d been fantasising about in college, but it was good enough for now.

He reached out for the phone. “Give it here,” Balthazar’s easy going grin faltered as his eyes narrowed at Castiel. Castiel gave him a quick peck on the lips before snatching the phone. “I owe you babe,” he mouthed before answering it. Balthazar shook his head, stretching lazily before crawling out of bed. “Hello?” Castiel said into the phone.

“Castiel. I need you today.” he groaned internally, the sound of the shower turning on, he checked the time again, “You sure sir? Is something wrong?”

“You remember those murders a couple months back? Lisa Mckinstry and Adam Wheeler?”

“Yes. They never caught the killer.”

“Well they think he started back up again. They found a body by the river this morning, just like the other victims, body cut to pieces and bagged. I want you to cover this story. Talk to the cops, see what you can get. Full reporting, and frontpage juice.” Castiel swallowed hard, his stomach churning violently in his chest. He’d never been given a front page story before.

“Really? You really want to give it to me sir?” he asked in shock.

“You’re the best we got, and if this is the same killer, you know he moves quick. I need you to put your best foot forward on this one. Cops and coroner are still at the crime scene. I need you out there reporting asap.” Crowley hung up before Castiel could mutter a word of thanks. He sat there for a moment, dumbfounded and exhilarated at the chance to show just what he was made of. In a rush of excitement he jumped off the bed and ran to the bathroom, anxious to tell his lover of the news.

-)-)-

Dean washed his hands. Scrubbing the blood and dirt from under his nails. His latest victim had put up quite a fight. He’d been a strong man, about six foot two, toned and muscular, but nearly as quick as Dean was. It’d been easy to overpower him and all that muscle and bravado meant little to him as Dean began to tear into him. He broke just as easily as anyone else, though it took a little longer, by the end he was begging for death.  The house he had picked this time was different from the one before, a little cottage in a remote area, just on the outskirts of town. It was cold and smelled of damp mold, but there was a well in the back with fresh water and a fireplace he could use to keep warm while he was in town. He couldn’t risk staying in a hotel, not since he’d already been to this town before, it would be too dangerous. So the ramshackled cottage would have to do.

The distant sound of sirens made him smile, they’d probably already stumbled upon the pieces of the man's body, the would find everything but his heart. Dean still had that, he liked to cut the hearts up slowly, dissect them and feel them,he loved them the most because it was the one thing he felt he didn’t have. People with hearts didn’t go around killing others. It was part of what made him a God. Gods didn’t have souls, and neither did he.

“Two more,” he whispered to himself as he made his way back to the cottage, a bucket of water sloshing at his side. “Two more and I’ll leave. But they will never forget. They will fear me as I should be feared,” he mumbled to himself, “because I am the true way. I am true justice.”

-)-)-

The crime scene was crowded as Castiel pushed his way through the crowds, towards the front. Yellow tape had cut off the scene as emergency workers and police tried to clear out the area as quickly as possible. There were several black bags, some ripped open, others closed. Castiel’s stomach churned with the knowledge of what was in those bags, an unfamiliar feeling of calm washing over him. He smiled when he saw a young officer standing off to the side, Garth Fitzgerald IV. They were good drinking buddies and he was almost always willing to give Castiel the scoop when he needed them for a story.

“Hey Garth,” he said smoothly, Garth jumped, lifting his head from a manila folder he had been reading. He glared at Castiel, who returned it with a playful chuckle.

“Don’t do that Cassy! You scared me,” he snapped, closing the folder and looking around to make sure noone was watching them. “What are you doing here?” he asked, keeping his voice as low as possible.

“I’m on this story now. Crowley wants me to cover it...Anything you can tell me?” Garth’s eyes flickered back over the scene. He turned slightly, to look as though he were still reading the contents of the folder.

“You know I can’t tell you anything. Not here at least.”

“So how ‘bout over drinks tonight. Harvelle’s?” Garth swallowed hard, giving a short nod. Castiel leaned over and pecked him gently on the cheek, Garth grimaced and wiped his face. Castiel winked. “Thanks. See you at ten.”

Back in his car Castiel picked up his phone, he had two missed calls from Balthazar and one missed call from Crowley. He decided to phone the latter first, not quite ready to deal with the wrath of his boyfriend. Crowley answered on the second ring.

“What do you have for me?” he asked immediately. Castiel pulled a notebook from under the passenger seat, flipping it open, notes strewn, haphazardly over the pages.

“Not much, not yet at least. I’m meeting Garth tonight for drinks and he’ll give me more detail there. The scene is remote. The body was cut up, like the other victim’s and placed in separate plastic bags...Looks like the victim was killed elsewhere and dumped out there.”

“Just like the others.”

“Yes sir.”

“I want you to run with this Krushnik. Do whatever you have to do to get this story out fully. You’ll make a good name for yourself if you do.” Castiel was surprised, by Crowley’s  encouragement.

“No boundaries?”

“None.”

“I can write the story how I want?”

“Down to the last detail….Just make sure you get it eh?”

“Yes sir….Thank you sir.”

“No problem. See you in here on monday, and your fingers better be twitching.” Castiel grinned as he hung up. He’d always been ambitious, straight A’s in school, top of his class, athletic. He believed success came from hard work and blood and sweat. There was no room for tears of frustration, not for him at least because tears and frustration were distractions from the goal. He looked back down at his notes, the different points from crime scenes and the descriptions of the victims. Neither of them seemed to have anything in common but a police record. One for pedophilia and the other for aggravated robbery. castiel chewed his bottom lip in thought, eyes scanning the pages, searching for the link, the key to this killer’s motives.

“Maybe it’s their crimes….Maybe that’s the link.” he wrote quickly in his journal, circling the words. He threw the notebook back in the passenger seat and turned on his car. He had work to do.

-)-)-

  
He watched the blonde man standing outside of the car. Dean knew people could be stupid, but he couldn’t believe how stupid this guy was, to steal a car in broad daylight. That was pure idiocy. He watched him break the window, trying to be discreet and unlock the door, slipping in behind the wheel with less than beautiful grace. Dean studied him, blonde hair, six foot two, muscular, blue eyes and british accent. He looked to be in his mid to late twenties and was sharply dressed. Black suit and crimson colored tie. Dean hated that. People with all the money, all the possession in the world and they still chose to steal from the less fortunate, because they could, because in their world there were no boundaries. He memorized the car, committing it to memory as well as the man’s face. He would find him tonight and he would be the next to go.

**Author's Note:**

> visit me on tumblr: http://alka-seltzer-spacewitch.tumblr.com/ I would love to hear from you :)


End file.
